


Trace

by magicmads17



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Post, Hurt/Comfort, LSF revan, but like a fun asshole revan, i just like an asshole revan okay, lots of ansgt, no beta we post like bastards, pre-reveal, revan is a bit of a bastard, tbh i will defend carth until i die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicmads17/pseuds/magicmads17
Summary: Revan takes a nasty hit from Darth Brendon, Canderous drinks whiskey, and Carth watches over everything and thinks far too much for his own good.Pre-reveal, angsty musings of a man who's life is not at all what he expected. But then again, who's life is what they expect, anyways?More of a character study than anything, I guess.
Relationships: Carth Onasi/Female Revan, Carth Onasi/Morgana Onasi
Kudos: 22





	Trace

**Author's Note:**

> I will defend Carth and all of his anxious, paranoid arguments until my death day. This is more of a character study than anything, written on a whim. Also my first post on AO3, so that's exciting. 
> 
> Pls enjoy

It was rare for Carth to see her flinch in combat. Well, flinch at anything, really. But, he sees it. It’s slight, only a small movement of her shoulders as she just barely avoids being sliced in half by Darth Brendon’s lightsaber. Carth, usually in the back blasting at enemies from afar dares to get closer, seeing something different in her stance, something different in the way she’s swinging at the frankly annoying Sith. 

Canderous and Sarin continue to slice, and soon enough, both dark Jedi flanking Brendon are in heaps on the sandy ground. It takes only another few minutes until Brendon joins them. 

Canderous cracks his neck. Carth hates when the Mandolorian does that. Self-righteous mercenary bravado- Carth swears he does it just to piss him off, sometimes… Canderous begins picking through the pockets of the dead dark Jedi, and Carth is only distracted by Sarin falling to her knees. 

“Whoa there, Sarin-” He rushes to her side, seeing a pained look on her face. She’s a little dazed, much like he found her in the escape pod all those months ago. She shakes it off and immediately gets back to her feet. 

“M fine. Just tripped over this damned sand.” She says, kicking at the ground a little to illustrate her point. “We should get back to Anchorhead, I’ve got some skull plates to sell.” 

Canderous grunts in reply, and they’re off. 

Carth often wonders why Sarin decides to bring him and Canderous on so many missions together. They’re certainly her preferred team. But Carth has made his distaste of the Mandalorian obvious. Canderous tolerates his presence, but only barely. Carth had asked her, offhandedly, once, to which she shrugged and cocked her eyebrow at him. 

“Thought it might give both of you a different perspective.” 

He half thinks she does it just to get a rise out of them. But then again, he can’t argue with the efficiency in which they dispatch their enemies- it’s swift, graceful, almost. And for the most part, seems painless. He’ll give both Sarin and Canderous that- when they aim with their swords, the aim is true, the cut is swift and the power is overwhelming. Carth likes to think his aim is just as true, and he knows that after years of being in war, it’s the best it’ll ever be. It’s a mercy he shows to his enemies, as a sign of respect, even if they are the entire reason his life is in shambles. He hopes that they do the same. He’d rather a painless, swift death. He’s thought about that a lot. 

They trudge through the desert and the suns begin to dip below the horizon as they see the gates of Anchorhead in the distance. Canderous and Carth fall into an easy flank as Sarin leads. Both of them notice that she’s favoring her right side as she walks. Her robes are clearly singed, but she’s moving too fast for him to see anything else. 

They walk into Anchorhead and go straight to the hunter’s guild, in which Sarin sells her kills for what Carth considers to be more than a fair price, even without using her jedi powers. She tried haggling for a little more, but the merchant only shook their head and handed her the credits. 

She huffs, then leads them back to the ship, muttering about how Iziz would’ve given her better prices and more respect. 

It’s funny- even though she’s a Jedi now, she keeps many of her mannerisms: the snark, the keen eye, the dry sense of humor and the temper. She had been very invested in her Jedi training on Dantooine (and she’d certainly been the calmest, most centered that he'd ever seen her be. She even had this glow around her… But he thinks that was just something to do with the lighting of the enclave) but that only lasted about a week after they left. Even with her newfound connection to the force, she’s still herself. Which Carth likes, for the most part- some Jedi tend to be self-righteous and overly pious, to the point that they seem like holy droids. But it also raises concerns that she could fall, especially if any of those damned Sith find some way to exploit the darkness that’s already in her- the moments of the peak of her temper, the moments where some dark shadow crosses her eyes just before she lands a killing blow. 

But, then again, she’s stubborn and wise. She has done the right thing in almost every situation they’ve faced so far, even if she’s griped about it a couple of times. It seems that she will always do the right thing, just not as piously as the Jedi council may want her to. She does good in her gruff, sarcastic way. And he has to trust that she’s too stubborn to change, at least in that way.

They make it back to the ship and she swiftly excuses herself to the small quarters she’s made for herself in the one turret that doesn’t function. Everyone else settles into the night cycle. 

Bastila and Mission argue about something or other as they go off to the bunks. The two have a very sibling-like relationship; sometimes being thick as thieves, and sometimes arguing over where the only good mug on the ship should go in the mess. Zalbaar follows them, quietly, but laughing. 

Juhani and Jolee talk in the crew quarters, Juhani actually smiling at some story Jolee tells. Carth thinks it’s good that the Cathar is able to find some moment of reprieve from the despair that seems to follow her like a cloud. Jolee is a peculiar man, but Carth appreciates how no-bullshit he is. Carth himself may not be exempt from the comments, sometimes, but Jolee tells it like it is in a way that many other people steer clear of. 

Canderous sits in the mess of the ship, nursing a glass of Corelian whiskey they’re found somewhere lodged in the smuggling compartments. Usually, Sarin joins him (Jolee even joins them, as of late), but she was apparently still in her bunk. 

Carth, feeling a little tired himself, locks the controls in the cockpit and goes to do his nightly round of the ship before going to bed. He feels a prickle of anxiety, but tries to let it fade as much as he can. It’s not unusual for him to be anxious, of course. Comes with the territory. But he isn’t sure why, this time. 

He first goes to the ramp of the ship and closes it, locking it from invaders and vermin alike. Carth isn’t sure he trusts the docking officials here. From there, it’s back to the security computer of the ship near the cockpit, where he engages the security measures to further deter anyone from even thinking about trying to sneak up on them. Davik may have been the worst kind of scum, but he knew how to keep a ship secure. 

No one asked him to be the one in charge of the nighttime security, it’s a habit from when he commanded smaller vessels- it’s a duty that he’s learned never to take lightly, but also one that is able to put at least some of the anxiety in his mind at ease. It’s how he shows respect to his comrades, and also the only way he can sleep at night without waking up every hour to his own paranoia. 

He catches a glimpse of the terminal. The date is achingly familiar to him. He frowns, and allows himself to remember the occasion, all those years ago. They had been married young, he was barely twenty and they wanted to get married before he went to start training. He remembers his family there in the Telos countryside. He remembers being nervous and the smell of his brand new dress uniform, and seeing her father sitting in the front and staring at him with all the expectations in the world for him. And he remembers her smile just before he’d kissed her. 

He can’t remember her face, but he remembers her smile, and he remembers the passionate night they spent together after the wedding. He remembers how she smelled, remembers the scarf she loved to wear in the winter. He remembers the message she sent when she told him she was pregnant, how excited and scared she was, and he remembers the glee, the joy and numb terror he had at the prospect of becoming a father at only twenty-one. He remembers his brief shore leave to see Dustil born into this world of unrest. He remembers every shore leave after, only spending time with her and his young son, their beautiful young son with stars in his eyes. He remembers how she would pretend not to cry every time he had to leave again, and would grasp his hands until he almost missed his transport. He remembers how she would fuss over any new scars he collected over the years. He remembers how the added years made her wiser and more beautiful every time he would come home. 

He remembers the way she would tell him she loved him before he left, before she went to sleep, before he woke up, in the choked, wretched moment before she died in his arms-

But he cannot remember her face. 

It hurts. But it is an old hurt that dulls with every year passing. Where it was once a knife lodged in his heart and lungs, it’s the phantom of the blade now formed in the scar tissue that pains him when it rains, or when he thinks about her a little too long.

As he’s about to go into the bunks, Canderous grunts at him. 

“Seen our fearless leader lately?” he asks gruffly. 

“Can’t say I have.” Carth responds. Canderous nods, then takes another swig of his drink. A second passes. 

“You look awful.” He says. Carth’s anger flares, but he does not have the energy to allow it to the surface. 

“Not in the mood for an argument.” Carth weakly snaps, minus his usual fire. Canderous retracts. 

“I’m not-- I know that expression.” Canderous states. 

“I doubt it.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s lost a wife, boy scout.” 

Canderous’ eyes echo the feelings swirling within Carth’s thoughts. A moment of understanding passes Carth’s mind. 

Canderous offers him the bottle with a nod.

Carth is taken aback, but he accepts and pours himself a drink. He hands the bottle back, and Canderous refreshes his own. They aren’t friends, in any stretch of the imagination. But he’s overheard conversations between the Mandalorian and Sarin leading Carth to believe that Canderous has perhaps changed for the better, even saying himself that he’s having regrets at the past and all the carnage. And Carth understands the Mandalorian ways a little more. Which doesn’t put any of his anger to rest. But it at least puts context to it all. 

They’re sitting around the table in relative, almost reverent silence, occasionally taking sips and hearing the ticking in the hyperdrive. It’s not a tense silence, like it was in the beginning. Canderous isn’t one for words, and Carth knows enough to respect that, especially now. He has enough on his mind, anyways.

Time passes. Canderous finishes his drink. He stands. “You should go check on her, she took a nasty hit earlier. And I think she’d rather you than me.” He snorts at the last comment, but there is no malice. Canderous simply stated a fact, by his expression.

For a moment, there is complete understanding between the two of them. Sarin and Carth had been dancing around whatever it is between them since the beginning of this adventure. Carth knows what it is, but will not let himself name it because it feels strange, feels uncomfortable in the least uncomfortable way. And Sarin has definitely returned fire, too; the flirting becoming a little too real in the midst of their usual banter.

Just in the way Carth has overheard conversations between Sarin and Canderous, Canderous has overheard the multitude of arguments between them- about Carth’s trust issues, about Saul, about his dead wife and Dustil, about his fears of Sarin falling, about how Sarin reminds him of his dead wife (she seemed to take it as a compliment, which was good), and the tension between them of which Carth will not name, not yet. It’s been so long since he’s last felt anything like it, and he’s afraid that if he names it, it’ll fall away in the darkness like he expects everything else good in the galaxy will to. 

“She still is a rotten medic, even with the force, huh?” Carth responds, a little taken aback. Sarin is by far the worst medic out of the lot of them, only HK and T3 the exceptions. Her force powers have made her better, but both Carth and Canderous have been the receiving ends of a half healed blaster shot or vibroblade slice. It’s often enough to get through the rest of combat, but afterwards they have to patch themselves. 

Canderous chuckles, then nods. He goes off to his bunk. 

Carth downs the rest of his drink. He makes his way to her makeshift quarters. 

The turret door is closed, but he can see that the light is on. He knocks. 

“-- What?” She yells, certainly more annoyed than she should be. The door slides open and she’s standing there in her underwear. There’s a very clear wound in her side that she’s been obviously trying to close. Blood trickles down her exposed torso, staining the worn Republic-issue undergarments. 

“As much as I love hearing you come up with new ways not to trust me, I’m busy, Carth.” She snaps, eyes glazed over with pain. 

“And here I was, just going to see if you were okay.” He retorts, a little softer than usual. 

“I’m just fine, thanks. Go to bed.” She goes to shove him out, but her body seizes up and she’s on her knees again, biting back a yelp. 

He immediately goes to her. She seems to go out of consciousness for a flash, then is back in a cold sweat. 

“You’re gonna kill yourself this way, you know that?” He says, alarmed and more than a little angry that she wouldn’t ask for help. 

“Too hard to kill me, you know that, flyboy.” She groans before he scoops her up and takes her to the medical bay. 

She’s dense muscle, but he’s always surprised at how compact she is. She’s not overly tall- her intimidation comes in her demeanor. Physically, she’s the same muscle that the rest of them are, just a little shorter. 

She passes out again for a split second when he sets her down, but he quickly injects her with a strong painkiller, to which she yelps. He works quickly, having to take out her poor attempt at closing the wound and begin again. 

“Ugh, what did you just shoot me up with? I feel woozy.” She says, voice becoming detached. She looks a little green, so he works a little faster.

“Strongest painkiller we have. You’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.” He responds, immediately going back to focusing on the wound. It’s clean, at least. “Shouldn’t this be cauterized? Lightsaber, and all that?” He asks. 

She scowls. “Damned cheating dark motherfucker- had vibroblade attachments on his lightsaber hilt.” 

He nods, then begins to stitch the wound closed. It’s not terribly long, just in a bad place. The tension in her face fades. The painkiller must be working, at least a little. 

“What, did the Force stopped working for you?” he says dryly, once it’s almost closed. One more stitch, then he finds a bacta patch to lay over it. As he places it over the stitches, she arches at the contact. 

“That’s so cold!!” She exclaims. His fingers trace around the wound for reasons he can’t quite explain, but he quickly withdraws. He sees the bumps rise on her skin. She struggles upright, moving stiffly and meeting his eyes. “I can’t focus on the Force and you know I’m shit at healing, anyways. And I need to do it on my own. I can’t always rely on-”

“Sarin, that’s bullshit.” he cuts her off. “We’re all a team. And you can ask for help.” 

“But there’s going to come a time-” 

“- You’re not being honest with me.” 

She huffs, clearly annoyed at being thwarted. She mutters a response.

“Sarin.” He warns. His patience is thin tonight. 

“... I hate being weak.” She admits, louder this time, eyes sparkling with defiance and the lingering pain. 

“You are the strongest woman I know.” he responds, exasperatedly. She arches an eyebrow. 

“What does me being a woman have to do with it?” She saw the opening and took it. Her eyebrows twitch, and she stares at him, challenging him into their usual banter. 

He sputters. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Person. You are the strongest person I know. There, happy?” 

She stands, using the table for support and smirking, allowing the facade to rest. “Teasing you.” She says, inhaling sharply as she tries to walk before the bacta patch fully sets over the wound. His hands are to her shoulders, then one hand to her hand. She groans. 

“Alright. You win, Carth. Congrats, you’re my personal medic from now on.” She concedes, nodding in the direction of her bunk. “Take me to bed, flyboy.” 

Her focus changes ever so slightly, like she’s looking at someone in the hallway. She looks confused for a second, then looks back to him. 

A wicked grin erupts over his face and his voice drops low. Two can play at this, and they know this game well. “Awful forward of you, isn't it?” 

Something in her face changes so drastically, so quickly, that he does not have time to process what follows. 

She moves her weight forward and very suddenly, her lips are on his and her arms are around his neck and he’s very aware of the fact that she has a nasty injury on her side but his hands find her hips anyways and he registers what’s going on and suddenly things feel like they’ve been leading here for a very, very long time. 

It’s the first time he’s been kissed since… Well, don’t ruin the moment, Carth. But even then the moment is soured by the day, soured by the memories in such a brief fleeting thought. He begins to loosen his hold of her hips. 

She presses into him further, and her hand finds his cheek and her fingers rest there, gently. Her lips are cracked and a little rough, but she is warm against him and his skin tingles at the contact, at the electricity, at the inevitably. She smells like blaster fire, bacta and the ozone he's learned to associate with Force users. It's not the first time he's noticed. 

She breaks first, leaning into him to keep standing. The expression on her face is unreadable. He isn’t sure what to feel. 

She pushes away a little bit and stumbles to support her own weight. 

The moment hangs in the air. 

On one hand, it makes it real. All the flirting, all the glances they send at each other. The tension. And he cannot deny that it felt good, incredible, actually, and it makes him think of all those times he's been left wanting more, knowing that now there is the real potential for more-

But on the other hand, he feels guilty for it now being real. It feels too close to betrayal, especially on this day of all days. He bitterly thinks that the damned Force has a terrible sense of humor: finally getting what he’s been yearning for, but having it be on the day he is most reminded of the person he failed the worst. 

Sarin looks up at him, and for a second he sees the color of his dead wife's eyes- deep green. Rare, on Telos. He blinks, and only the usual gray of Sarin’s eyes remain. 

“... Her name was Morgana, right?” She asks quietly. 

He’d never told Sarin her name. He nods. 

She shifts her weight and meets his eyes. “Look, I know all this Force stuff is crazy to you, but…” She pauses, then points to the hallway. “She was standing right there a moment ago. And she wanted me to get you to stop moping and to move on. So I did.” Sarin explains unapologetically, clearly. 

Carth isn’t able to move, much less speak. Sarin continues. 

“Sometimes people can reach out after they’ve moved on- I mean, you saw it on Korriban- when they have unfinished business.” Sarin continues. “She… She wants you to be happy, Carth. And she thinks you’re being dense.” Sarin’s eyes fill with the wisdom that comes with truth, and something else… Longing? 

“I’m sorry if that was out of line.” she concludes, moving slowly back to her bunk, expression unreadable once again, and lack of sureness in her posture. 

For a split second, he feels a familiar hand on the front of his shoulder- where Morgana would trace the outline of his first scar from war. He instinctively goes to grasp the hand, but it is not there, and he is left standing in the hallway alone. 

Something clicks in his mind. He feels her presence and he knows that Sarin wouldn’t make any of this up. It would be too much of a coincidence. 

But his own heart can only take one thing at a time. This was sudden, this was so much at once. To know that Morgana has given her blessing, to know that Sarin… 

But there are risks that he will not, cannot allow himself to take yet. Not while the risk of Sarin falling is still ever present, not while everything is still swirling chaos around them. 

But, things will never be perfect. He knows that. 

He is finally able to move, and rubs at his eyes and ignores the hitch of closure in his breath. 

He feels raw. 

His feet move to her door. She’s barely inside the doorframe, but hears him approach and looks at him with an open expression, no judgement, perhaps a little sadness, but no ill will. 

He smiles at her and closes the distance. He presses a light kiss to her lips, short, but meaningful. Her eyes are still closed when he pulls away. Then, he goes off to his bunk. 

Sarin stands, a little dumbfounded, but she smiles. Something flutters in her stomach, and she watches him go.


End file.
